Lokaci Ne Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Shadows of a Forced Marriage
 
Slowly, she scanned every corner of the room. Her memory pulled back the heated arguments with her mother about the forced marriage she was planning for her—marriage not to just anyone, but to the man who once tried to violate her, a drunkard and gambler. Still, that was not her deepest worry. Her true concern was to escape the endless taunts about her single status. Yet how could she, when every suitor her grandmother had introduced vanished with time, leaving her stranded?
 
She exhaled sharply. Her mind was a mess, her head pounding as though struck by a hammer. The pain at the center of her skull felt like it might shatter. Her reddened, swollen eyes lifted toward the wall clock, its ticking beating in rhythm with her racing heart.
 
She was only twenty-two, slender with long flowing hair, eyes neither large nor small, lips tinted with natural pink. She had height but not much flesh. Rising unsteadily, her body trembled. Just before collapsing, she sat back down, whispering “Hasbunallahu wani’imal wakil.” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks.
 
Gathering courage, she rose again, clutching her aching head. Tears poured freely, but she forced herself upright. Whatever Allah had destined must happen, whether through struggle or surrender. People interpreted trials differently, some seeing only danger, others sensing hidden wisdom. But for her, every thought only added weight to her restless heart.
 
Abbas and the Waiting Game
 
Leaning against an expensive car, Abbas checked his wristwatch and hissed loudly for the third time.
 
“Abbas, you’re still here?” someone called.
 
“Yes, I’m still here, standing like a planted tree,” he replied bitterly.
 
“It would be better if you accepted things as they are,” the voice suggested.
 
Abbas scoffed. “Even if you hammer bent iron, it never returns to shape.”
 
His friend chuckled lightly, advising him to at least relax his tight trousers. But Abbas refused to respond further, afraid anger would spill dangerous words he couldn’t take back. The other young man wisely left him alone.
 
Unnoticed, a young woman of about nineteen watched them secretly from behind a wall. She couldn’t hear their words, but Abbas’s expression told her it wasn’t pleasant. “Stubborn fool,” she muttered before retreating inside.
 
“Back already? Has he left?” her mother, Mama, asked.
 
“I didn’t even go close. Mama, I can’t bear hearing his voice,” she said with a pout.
 
Mama scolded her gently for being headstrong. “Love isn’t forced,” the daughter protested. Mama only sighed, hinting at a message her daughter failed to catch.
 
Inside her room, the girl brooded. Mama’s words—“Be careful, I’m watching your future”—echoed painfully.
 
Struggles of the Heart
 
Tears flowed again as memories of her mother’s harsh words and her troubled past returned. She rose and walked weakly to the door.
 
“Awake already?” someone asked kindly. She only nodded, too drained to speak.
 
“Come, I’ll show you the bathroom. Wash, then pray. The time has passed too far,” the woman urged.
 
Inside, she lingered for ten minutes, splashing water, then emerged wiping her hands. The woman guided her to a prayer mat.
 
“Please pray. Thinking won’t solve anything,” she urged again. After showing her, she left the room.
 
Finishing her prayers, the young lady bowed her head, her heart aching bitterly. She lay down on the mat like a helpless cat, chills spreading through her body. Again, Mama’s words came back—“Be careful, I’m watching your future.” She wiped more tears away.
 
Later, the woman returned with a tray of food. “Eat something,” she pleaded. But the girl’s lips were sealed with heaviness.
 
“You haven’t eaten in two days, only water,” the woman pressed, meeting her eyes.
 
“I can’t swallow anything,” she whispered.
 
“By Allah, eat for His sake,” the woman begged. Reluctantly, she obeyed, but after one bite she nearly vomited. Alarmed, the woman left and returned with a strong cup of tea, feeding her little by little until she drank half.
 
As she sighed deeply, cruel words from others echoed in her mind: “The unlucky one who lost her lover.” The insult stung. She had never lacked love—her mother loved her, and once she had a true beloved. Why, then, did people mock her with such labels, even calling her “possessed”? Why didn’t they understand that fate belongs only to Allah?
 
Between Pain and Hope
 
“Still thinking?” the woman asked gently. The girl gave no reply, only lay back again. The woman quietly left her to rest.
 
In another room, the girl sat on a bed, lost in thought, hand on her cheek. At that moment, a handsome man entered—tall, fair, with shining hair and clear eyes, about thirty-two years old. Seeing her sweating from stress, he asked softly, “Aunty, what’s wrong? You know too much worrying raises blood pressure.”
 
She chuckled faintly. “Where did you hear that?”
 
“Even if no one said it, I did. Please don’t sit brooding like an orphan,” he smiled.
 
She forced a weak smile, but her pain was deeper than words.